


(Not So) Neighbourly Conduct

by adamant-cap (lokkelaufeysdottir)



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 'Oops I accidentally opened your mail again', Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Neighbors, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Steve is a Troll
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 05:06:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3923992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokkelaufeysdottir/pseuds/adamant-cap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam was sick and tired of getting his neighbour's mail, although the stuff he gets is always ... interesting, to say the least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Not So) Neighbourly Conduct

**Author's Note:**

  * For [biggestpretend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/biggestpretend/gifts).



> For queerhannamarin.tumblr.com, for the Samsteve exchange 2015! Hope you enjoy!

Sam was sick and tired of getting his neighbour’s mail. 

It started out tame at first. Letters addressed to ‘S.G. Rogers’ at Lot 31 were being delivered to Lot 30. It was common for the mailman or the courier to get stuff mixed up; all the houses looked alike after all.

It was a quiet neighbourhood so a lot of his neighbours were in their golden years. Sam naturally assumed Rogers was as well. He never saw anyone leave the house, although lights came on at night and the kitchen curtains would shift suspiciously sometimes. A gardening service kept the lawn up to neighbourhood standards. Take out was sometimes delivered right to the door, and the garage stayed shut because there was no car. Some nights Sam recognized the sound of old records playing.

But no harm, no foul, right? He just finished the deliveries when they detoured to his house.

The first time he got a package, he was halfway to fetching a knife when he read Rogers’s name on it. Exasperated, Sam was tempted to open it as some form of petty revenge, but decided not to. That would be rude, and he had already passed the requirements for nosy neighbour.

Besides, he had never even seen the person that lived across from him. He was willing to bet it was some surly old man. Everyone knew better than to mess with surly old men.

Shrugging, he walked the package over to their porch.

*

It happened again. And again. The third time, Sam was starving, so he just left everything on his kitchen table while he ordered takeout. But then came his dilemma, as he was full and feeling too lazy to walk yet.

Sam Wilson was not a busybody. In fact, he took pride in the fact that he was quite the opposite. He didn’t like gossiping, not even with his sisters. If someone told him something in confidence, he was damn well prepared to take it to his grave. He was a counsellor at the VA, for God’s sake!

But the longer this mysterious package sat on his table, the harder his curiosity niggled at him. It was driving him crazy.

Maybe if he was careful...

He would just widen the corner flap a little. It was already bending open, anyway. No one ever had to know. 

“Alright then, look but don’t touch,” he lectured – well, himself. “That’s the proper etiquette, right? Hey, if it works for strippers and the Declaration of Independence, it’s good enough for me.”

Carefully opening the flap, he peered inside, blowing at the protective wrapping until it moved away from...a snow globe? Three of them, actually. They were colourful and finely detailed, mounted on carved stands: one depicted a sweet choir of angels of mixed races; another showed a busy village with sleighs and ice-skaters, and the last was [the classic Santa](http://www.thomaskinkadesnowglobes.com/), writing his list while peering at the world’s children through his snow globe.

Tucked in the corner was a crisp white card, the edge embossed with gold. He made out, “– my favourite grandpa” and a single name written in cursive, Natasha, followed by a couple of hearts and smiling emojis. The package came from Bosnia, so Sam concluded that this Natasha travelled for work.

Would Rogers know about emojis? He doubted the man knew how to navigate the internet properly, considering where his mail ended up.

Well, at least he had people who cared about him.

Sam really shouldn’t have intruded on that. He berated himself the entire time he was sealing up the package and taking it where it should have gone.

*

There were still letters, but as they petered out, Sam’s curiosity about the steady care packages grew. He felt guilty enough about the first time to not open any.

But then one day after work he came face-to-face with a strange animal on his porch. It was curled up in a cage, with some weird squiggly symbols written on a piece of thick paper on top of it. Parchment maybe – that was a thing, right? 

There was no name or delivery information or anything except for the ‘Captain Rogers’ in the middle of all the scribbles. So it was probably a language, not a voodoo curse. Small mercies.

The animal was undeniably weird, but also adorable, with big eyes and curly grey thick fur. Sam melted a little inside as it mewed at him. He squatted so he could talk to it and figure out how this cage was supposed to open without a key. Or a lock.

It was so similar to a cat with the purring and licking and rubbing up against the cage that if it hadn’t sat up and revealed its massive talons (yes, talons), Sam wouldn’t have noticed anything strange about it.

And sure he was startled, but it was only a fluffy animal looking for love. So he smiled and pet it through the bars. It was probably one of those weird Australian animals. A capybara or something.

It wasn’t a capybara, as Sam found out later that night while he was researching, and capybaras also weren’t from Australia. And they didn’t look like cats. In fact, Sam hadn’t had any idea what a capybara was prior to his googling that day.

He prayed to God and all the saints that he hadn’t helped send his neighbour a secret killer animal. Or at least not the kind that ate old people.

*

On the fourth of July there was a huge fireworks display. Sam was still not a fan, even if the sound didn’t send his mind hurtling back into the battlefield anymore. There was also a huge, sloppily wrapped package leaning on his front wall. It was much too big for Sam to open inconspicuously, even if his neighbour’s eyes were old and failing.

Sam read the card taped to it for clues, eyebrows rising steadily.

_Hey old man! This is for you, my first successful college experiment. I don’t like it anymore. I was gonna throw it out, but I thought you might want a chance to get familiar with it. Seeing as you both have so many things in common. Things like age._

_I could build you a better one if you’d deign to come over some time. Or I could show you my sweet ride. You like cars, right?_

_Ps I was kidding just now. Please don’t ‘get familiar’ with this fossil in any way, shape, or form._

_Pps Bruce is here doing science too and he drags me to lunch every day so stop calling to tell me to eat_

Sam snorted. The _mouth_ on this kid. He had signed as ‘You know who I am’, so Sam did not in fact know who he was, but it didn’t concern him so he told himself to let it go. And now that song would be stuck in his head for the foreseeable future.

For a school project, it was pretty menacing. Never mind the gaudy red, white and blue wrapping paper, this thing looked like it had a wicked hook under there. Plus there were a hundred weird angles. Sam was only too happy to tow it off his porch before it came to life .  

*

The next box was kind of like a shoebox circled in twine that ended in a neat bow. It was also blocking his door. Sam poked it with a foot, eyebrows rising when it moved further than he expected.

Shuffling his two bags of groceries to one arm, he bent to pick it up. For a package this size it weighed surprisingly little. It made no sounds. Curiouser and curiouser.

He balanced it on top of the groceries so he could open the door. And once he did that, it only made sense that he set his stuff down before he carried it to the intended recipient.  And _then_ , well, a corner of the wrapping was lifting away because of how worn the paper was, and what kind of neighbour would Sam be if he didn’t fix that?

After a cursory look, of course. No use sending his neighbour another potential killer.

It was only a couple of t-shirts, not even folded. Now that was just lazy. Sam ignored his disappointment, because it was _completely inappropriate_ , and got out scissors and tape.

As he was trudging outside again with the box under his arm, he caught sight of a postcard trapped awkwardly under the railing. It must’ve come with the box and got blown off. In all honesty, he didn’t know how he could miss the purple monstrosity.

Sam pulled it up as gently as he could, trying not to tear it. The writing was a lost cause even after he wiped it on his shirt, but not all due to the dirt stains. He had to squint and tilt his head a little, but eventually determined the scrawl said,

 _This place is old as balls. It’s even supposed to say so in the name. You’d fit right in. Anyway since you couldn’t come I got these for you. Heard people get cold easily in their old age._ _There’s socks too._  

It also said “Greetings from Perú” with a photo of the terraced hillsides of Machu Picchu. Whoever these kids or grandkids were, they were obviously well-travelled but rude as hell. Sam shook his head and tucked the postcard under the twine as he set the package at his neighbour’s door.

*

The next package came a few weeks later via FedEx: a big envelope, lumpier at the bottom, from a Bruce in Colorado who claimed it held an ‘herbal aid’. It smelled downright funky.

Sam was pretty sure marijuana was grown in Colorado. He wondered again what this guy’s relatives all did for a living. He also wondered what Rogers would do with this if it really was what he suspected it was. 

Well, he could just take a look. Just one look, so he wouldn’t be implicated in some kind of drug smuggling operation. Not that he thought this was a Breaking Bad kind of neighbourhood, but who knows. Marijuana, at least, was legal here now.

Maybe he _had_ been spending too many nights streaming Netflix lately, but better safe than sorry.

Briefly holding the envelope above a jet of steam from his kettle, Sam carefully pried the seal loose and immediately recognised the smell of mint, chamomile and lavender. He saw a smaller package with the words ‘assortment’ and ‘ginseng’ and feels like a heel.

Bruce seemed like a great kid. Or grandkid. A great person, anyway, who sent thoughtful gifts to his elderly relative.

Sam, on the other hand, went snooping through his mail and making terrible assumptions. He felt like the worst neighbour in the entire state. Or maybe like that kid who got frustrated waiting ‘til Christmas and opened his presents on the sly, then regretted his life choices when his cards called him a good kid.

Uneasily, Sam wiped his palms dry on his sweatpants before he resealed the envelope with a hot iron. For his efforts, it only looked a little banged up, instead of pilfered. 

“This is the last time, I swear,” he muttered, squashing down his guilt.

*

He was doing another training exercise, his blood pumping hot and breathing loud in his ears as he soared through a clear blue sky. Miles and miles of sand flowed far below endlessly, in every conceivable direction. It all felt so new and glorious.

And there was Riley beside him, just as always, with his face lobster-red around the protective goggles. He shouted something at Sam, wind stripping the words right from his mouth, but Sam knew how to read lips. He flipped Riley the finger and got a wide grin, and then they were racing each other across the sky.

Everything was good. Everything was more than good. They were gods of the air, invincible kings of the whole fucking world, and Sam was –

 – jerking awake at ass o'clock in the morning, gasping and soaked in sweat. He clutched his head until the world quit spinning crazily around him.

He hated these dreams. More than the black-out panic attacks, more than the soul-crushing hopelessness and even the nightmares, the ones where he relived every gruesome, painful memory he couldn’t let go, Sam hated these goddamn dreams.  

He especially hated the moments after waking up. First reality came trickling in, and then came the swooping, devastating realization that everything was upside down and awful and couldn’t be fixed, and it built and built and built until he wanted to explode. Or die.

Now wasn’t any different.

He lay in the dark miserably until he couldn’t stand being with himself anymore, and then he got out his laptop and binge watched an entire season of CSI.

He called in sick the next day. 

*

Sam frowned at the UPS package sitting on his porch. In his exhaustion he’d tripped over it, catching himself on the railing before he went flying. The plain cardboard box was innocuous enough, except for the part where, once again, it was delivered to the wrong address.

This was way past ridiculous. He sat down and reached over to turn it right side up.

Well, it wasn’t marked fragile, so thankfully not a snow globe. Now that he thought about it, there hadn’t been any snow globes for this month. That was mildly intriguing and also none of his damn business.

Hopefully he hadn’t damaged whatever it was anyway. He lifted it next to his face and shook it a little to make sure nothing tinkled.

Sam might have been tempted to open it but, unsurprisingly, his interest had been effectively cowed by his own subconscious. At least something good came out of one of his bad days. Sort of. More or less.

He scrubbed at his face tiredly, wanting nothing more than to burrow down in bed for a week, but sighed and carried it next door. Better he got used to it now. Old people were notoriously forgetful; he’d probably be doing this for a long time to come.

“‘Falcon’s Courier Service’, huh? Got a nice ring to it,” he said out loud, grinning despite himself. 

He set the box on the railing and made his way back home, hands tucked in his pockets, eyes raised to follow a swallow’s flight.

He decided to watch Kiki’s Delivery Service, because what’s not to like about cute enterprising witches?

*

Feeling restless the next day he dressed for a quiet jog, thinking to clear his mind in the chilly pre-dawn.  It was as good a way as any to start the weekend.

Toeing his sneakers on, he pushed open the door – and stopped dead, because what the hell?

The package was back. It was even in the same place, like someone calculated the best spot for maximum light and dramatic effect. Sam considered creepy possessed artefacts, then mentally shook himself and narrowed a glare at it. Why the fuck was it sitting there, big and bold on his porch, at this godforsaken hour of the morning?

Sam was damn well going to find out. He grabbed it and marched straight into his kitchen, pulled down the first knife he saw, and ripped into it without mercy. There was something really soothing about the destruction of the stupid mysterious packaging. And on the plus side, if it _was_ a haunted doll this was the best pre-emptive strike he could think of.

Once he got to what was inside, though, he forgot all about being superstitious. All that existed was cold terror and regret. There could not possibly be a worse surprise.

Before him a [sleek silicone dildo](http://happyplace.someecards.com/avengers/artists-posters-depict-avengers-vibrators/) in unmistakable red, white and blue was laid out, sent to his elderly neighbour via online sex shop. Specifically, an online sex shop specializing in superhero themed sex toys. An instruction pamphlet suggested tips for achieving ‘good old-fashioned American fun’.

There was also a note.

_Hello neighbour! Since you’ve been a sneaky pain in my ass I bought this to return the favour. Hope you like!_

_P.S. It vibrates ;-)_

Holy shit, it just kept on getting worse. Seems the relatives came by their rudeness honestly.

*

That opinion was reinforced on Friday when he warily opened another package, with the passive-aggressive note glued to the outside.

_Hi neighbour! I hope you enjoyed my last gift to you. Please accept this heartfelt token of appreciation for staying out of my business this week. Maybe try it in the shower? ;-)_

Oh, hell no. This dildo was bigger, redder and would you look at that, also a _fucking electrical stimulator._

So that’s how it is, huh?

That evening Sam taped an apology haiku to his neighbour’s front door.

_“Your mail came to me_

_Purely accidentally_

_Stop being an ass”_

The very next day he got a paper covered in stylised hand drawn emojis and an Iron Man vibrator for all his troubles.

“Well alright. If that’s how it is,” Sam said, glaring out his window at the unassuming house next door.

He reached for his phone and scrolled to the only number he had never used before.

“Hello? Is this the Jehova’s Witnesses?”

*

There was nothing quite as satisfying as watching a group of persistent religious types try their damnedest to save your asshole neighbour’s sinful soul. At 5:30 am on a Sunday. Everyone was frustrated except Sam.

Sam smiled beatifically and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast set to the dulcet tones of the group preaching about the path of righteousness.

That should teach that old crotchety bastard.

*

Sam never saw it coming. In his defence, his house was always locked up while he was out, so this was legitimate breaking-and-entering.

That hardly seemed to matter to the strange lady who scared him half to death when he walked in. She was wearing a dark leather jacket and wicked heels, and watching him intently from her lounging position on the couch.

“Uh, hello?” he said, voice raising almost hysterically. “Who are you and what are you doing in my house?”

She levered herself upright and smiled at him slowly. The show of her teeth made him unaccountably nervous. Sam was not ok with any of this.

“Hello, Sam,” she drawled. She had a husky sort of voice. The light caught in her hair burned like a sunset. “Have a seat.”

“ _Seriously_?” 

“I’m Natasha. You might have heard of me.”

Sam groaned and gave up. He took the seat she offered him in his own house, illegally, because she had broken in somehow. Maybe she was a professional burglar; that would certainly explain the extensive travelling.

“Did your grandfather send you?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Rogers? Your grandfather? Did he send you to do his dirty work or are you here to bust my balls for fun?”

The smile he got this time was warmer, more real somehow. Sam wondered just how many faces Natasha had, and what they meant.

“No, he didn’t send me. I wanted to see what kind of man you are.”

Sam huffed, amused. “It was the Jehovah’s Witnesses, right?”

“Oh yeah. He’s been bitching about them all week, along with the hundreds of catalogues he’s receiving that he didn’t sign up for.”

“Too much?”

She hummed and stretched her arms above her head until something cracked. Sam winced.

“No,” she said finally. “He’s pretty tough. Actually, I think he’s missed having someone to challenge him with everyone off doing their own thing.”

“What _do_ you do?”

“That’s classified.”  

“Well damn, that sounds ominous as hell.”

“Does it matter? You’re not involved,” she said, more curious than dismissive, as though Sam’s natural and completely justified paranoia was somehow remarkable. It probably was in her underground dealings.

“When I’m getting strange mail delivered to me I like to know it won’t blow up in my face. So, yeah, I’d say it’s pretty important.”

She hummed thoughtfully, but he already knew he wasn’t going to get an answer. It didn’t come as much of a shock when she abruptly changed tracks.

“Have you ever interacted with him?”

“You mean besides all the expensive hate mail? No,” Sam said wryly.

“I think maybe you should. He could do with some _friends_ in the neighbourhood.”

“I don’t like the way you said that word.”

“Oh? Too bad,” she said, then stood up and walked to the kitchen. Sam followed, kind of offended that she was so at home in his house. “Do you want some tea?”

“I don’t have –”

He trailed off when she pointed to the paper envelope on the counter.

“Bruce’s package came while you were getting that trim.”

“That isn’t at all creepy, really. It’s totally normal for a stranger to know my every movement.”

Natasha waved him off, taking the seat beside him as the water boiled. With her chin propped up in one hand and her elbow on the table, she looked somehow younger. Or at least less intimidating. Sam wasn’t fooled.

“You know, he thinks you were intentionally stealing his mail.”

“Really now.”

“He’s been all self-righteous about it. I can’t wait to tell him that he too can make mistakes.”

“Make sure to remind him how I never complained about completing the job.”

“Including unwrapping it for him?”

“Shut up, I was curious and frustrated.”

“The Captain America dildo can cure both of those things,” Natasha said slyly.

“Oh, come on!”

*

After his very long chat with Natasha, which somehow segued into him making dinner for them both, Sam felt compelled to go knocking on his neighbour’s door the next day. He wanted to clear things up and make peace. And possibly get the man to start writing #31 instead of #30 on his delivery documents.

When the door swung open he was greeted by Natasha. Sam was more surprised to realise how short she was out of heels than by the messy bun, grey jogging pants and baggy blue sweatshirt she was sporting. She gave him a quick once over, then smiled at him. Sam shivered under the sudden certainty that he was in danger.

“You dressed up,” she approved.

Sam snorted. He was wearing the jeans that showed off his legs and a nice shirt his sister bought him for Christmas. First impressions were important, and Sam wanted to give the impression that he was above all this bullshit.

“This was all for your benefit, I assure you.”

“Oh Sam, you shouldn’t have.”

“I can see that now,” he said, grinning. She punched his arm playfully.

As she waved him in like some kind of game show host, Sam desperately hoped his sudden dread was just paranoia talking.

“Steve! Your nosy neighbour’s here to apologize,” she called out, walking into another room. To Sam she said, “Take a seat, it’s my turn to feed you.”

She pointed him to the kitchen, where he peeked out the curtains at his house. His gutters needed some serious loving.

Realising how this might look like more snooping when he was here to apologise for it, he quickly parked his butt at the table.

Not a moment later, Natasha flounced back in.

“This is Steve Rogers, my ninety-five year old grandfather,” she declared as a large blond man stepped into the kitchen.

He too was wearing jogging pants, along with the tightest t-shirt that Sam had ever seen. His definition was seriously obscene.

The weird cat thing was curled up in his arms, looking fluffier than ever. Sam was almost sure cats that size weren’t supposed to purr that loudly. But back to those arms, they definitely needed a second mention. Sam was staring so hard hoping for a wardrobe malfunction that he nearly missed Improbable Hot Blond actually talking to him.

“ – ready to stop opening my mail now?” the man said, putting the – seriously what was it? – animal down and taking the chair opposite Sam’s.

It took Sam a minute of staring at that mouth and that jaw line and those incredibly blue eyes for it all to click. When it did he had to take another minute to stare disbelievingly, while _Captain America_ smirked at him.

“If you stopped sending your stuff to my porch maybe that would stop happening,” Sam said, faltering as he realised that _Captain America_ was also the crabby old neighbour he was currently engaging in a pissing contest.

“Oh? Somehow I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem anymore.”

Sam groaned.

“I cannot believe that Captain America, Paragon of Justice and Righteousness, sent me a patriotic sex toy.”

Sam jumped when Natasha’s laugh came from directly behind him. How did she even get there? She went around him to open the fridge, ruffling Steve’s hair as she passed. 

“That was actually my doing,” she admitted easily. “He wanted to give you a strong talking to, and maybe something more subtle, like apple pie flavoured lube. I talked him out of it.”

“Apple pie flavour?” Sam repeated dumbly.

“My favourite slice of America,” Steve said, grinning. What a little shit he turned out to be. 

“He sent the vibrator though,” Natasha said, rolling her eyes at them. “He said that if you didn’t come to your senses you were gonna end up with the whole set. Sure I would have loved to see that, but I’m still proud of him.”

And _this_ , this was what made Rogers blush? Not modern sex toys or talking about his devious deeds, but Natasha’s totally improper praise? Sam could not believe this guy.

Rogers shrugged self-consciously at Sam’s look.

“If you’re going to blame anyone, blame Tony Stark. He’s the one who controls merchandising. He bought the rights to Captain America when I came out of the ice.”

Natasha snorted.

“Stark doesn’t have to do a thing,” she countered. “You are the worst influence on yourself.”

Sam just sat there as they bickered lightly, floored by the fact that the neighbour he originally thought was a grumpy wrinkled old bastard was actually America’s sweetheart, and that America’s sweetheart was the sort of guy who would send him sex toys as a prank.

This could take some getting used to.

When Natasha asked him why he was so quiet over brunch, Steve made understanding noises as he explained.

“Assimilation of new ideas,” he said, smiling. “You’ll just have to get used to the real deal in a hurry. Maybe now you’ll think twice before poking through someone else’s mail, right?”

Sam scowled at his smirking face and kicked him under the table.

“I’m not talking to you until you actually put some clothes on,” Sam said, accepting the coffee pot Natasha pushed towards him.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing now?” Steve said.

Sam looked him over pointedly.

“Try everything. I’m not even sure that shirt counts as 'clothed' right now.”

“This shirt was a gift, as you well know.”

“Clint was in on the ‘Get Steve Laid’ campaign,” Natasha interjected. Steve made a face.

 “Excuse me while I get out of the clothes my friends tried to pimp me out in,” Steve said, standing. “Nobody touch my muffin!”

As soon as he was gone Natasha snatched his blueberry muffin up and cut it neatly with her knife. Sam raised an eyebrow.

“You sure you want to come between a hungry super soldier and his food?”

“How about we share the blame?” she said lightly, offering him half.

Sam’s face split in a grin.

“Can’t turn down free food,” he agreed, motioning for her to set it on his plate.

“Stolen stuff tastes better,” Natasha said, nodding. “Refill, please.”

*

Steve had been gone on some top secret mission with Natasha for about a fortnight (and Sam _still_ didn’t know what she did, but now he actively did not ask).

Sam was in charge of the cat-creature with an unpronounceable Russian name. It might have been a disaster, but as an alien species it was very intelligent. As well as very illegal; honestly what wasn’t with those two (technically dead) superheroes?

Anyway, while the cat scuttled away to pee outside, Sam shuffled through his mail. Eventually he came upon a weird vintage looking [postcard](http://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/gallery/2013/may/25/postcards-from-mr-bingo-in-pictures#img-7) from Steve.

With the first stirrings of dread, Sam flipped it over to see a circular red, white and blue diagram drawn in pen. Arrows pointing to the differently sized sections were labelled, from inside (the smallest ring) to out: family, best friends, acquaintances, enemies, strangers...Sam looked again and saw an arrow marked ‘you’, pointing way outside the circle.

“Oh, hell no,” he said, disgusted. “Just you wait.”

*

“It really doesn’t mean what you think it meant.”

“You gonna lie directly to my face?” Sam said, incredulous.

Steve shook his head, his palms out in supplication.

“It’s not like that,” he pleaded. His face and voice were so earnest; Sam just couldn’t wrap his mind around how much of a troll he was. “It was Natasha’s idea but I swear, just let me explain.” 

From across the room, Natasha squawked in outrage and threw a cushion that whipped Steve’s head to the side.

“Hey! Rude.”

 Sam snorted because really, Steve had no leg to stand on. Steve turned wounded blue eyes on him but Sam, having wily nieces and nephews, was immune to that shit.

“Sell out,” Natasha called back calmly, turning back to cleaning a set of wickedly sharp knives. Sam’s international thief theory was looking less and less plausible. Unless she was doing this to fuck with him, which was just as likely. 

It turned out that Steve was trying to find a cute way to confess his crush to Sam. Something like, ‘you mean immeasurably more to me than all these people’ or ‘you are out of this world’. Which was laughable coming from Captain America, peak of human perfection.

Natasha, on the other hand, was just hilariously bad at giving relationship advice.

“At least this way she’ll stop trying to set me up with Kristen from Statistics.”

Sam pretended to think hard about that.

“I don’t know,” he said levelly. “I think it might have been beneficial.”

“Oh?” Steve asked, suspicious. “Why?”

“Because she would have done the math and told you that I’m also way out of your league.” 

As Steve’s shoulders began to droop Sam nudged him, adding, “But I’d still like to be a part of _your_ world.”

“Oh for God’s sake,” Natasha groaned, and threw another cushion at them.

Sam was too busy making out with Captain Sassypants to care.

*

In the morning Sam woke up disoriented and way too warm, and tensed. He slowly relaxed as last night came back to him, remembering how Steve had wrapped around him as they watched Mulan and talked themselves to sleep. He turned over, curious. Steve’s slack face was peaceful, open and vulnerable in the weak light filtering through the curtains.

Sam reached out and lightly traced his cheekbones, pausing at the flutter of dark eyelashes. He let the warm, giddy feeling suffuse him, basking in it until his phone suddenly alarmed and he lunged to turn it off. Steve didn’t make a peep through it all. 

With care, Sam extracted himself from the mess of limbs and twisted sheets and went to get ready for his run, smiling to himself the whole time. Setting his dead laptop to charge, he paused to drink in the welcome sight of Steve sprawled across his bed, where he had migrated onto his back in the dead centre.

Sam grinned and went to get some paper.

He only found a pad of post-its, but that would work just as well. Maybe even better. If he stuck one to Steve’s forehead there was no way he would miss it.

*

Muscles burning from exertion, he slowed down a bit to soak in the serenity of the world just waking up, turning his face to the sunshine. It was honestly the most alive he’d felt all week. Well, besides being with Steve.

Sam was pretty sure he was getting in too deep. 

“On your left!”

Great, now he was even having auditory hallucinations – wait what the hell? Sam stared as the hulking blond went sprinting past him, legs pumping furiously.

“No, no, not here too,” Sam groaned.

Steve lapped him continuously, always with a smirk and that one phrase that was beginning to grate on Sam’s nerves. He must have done it about sixteen times before Sam snapped and foolishly tried to outrun his super soldier boyfriend.

Unsurprisingly, he hurt himself and gave up.

Steve, of course, stopped by on his last lap to check if he was alright and also give him shit.

“You’re such a troll, Rogers,” Sam complained, accepting the hand up.

“But I’m worth it,” Steve said, snaking an arm around his waist. He leaned in to kiss him. Sam allowed it, smiling at the chaste brush of lips on his own, and flicked his tongue out playfully.

They stopped and turned at the sound of a car pulling up next to them. It was a really nice car. When the window rolled down to reveal Natasha’s cool expression, Sam failed to muster up the faintest surprise. She didn’t have it yesterday, but this was Natasha, who kept breaking into his house somehow even though Sam locked up everything and had changed those locks twice in three weeks.

“Hey fellas,” she said, her mouth curling up. “Either one of you know where the Smithsonian is? I’m here to pick up a fossil.”

“That’s hilarious,” Steve scoffed, as Sam snickered outright.  He kissed Sam’s cheek and headed to the car. Sam enjoyed watching him go. What an ass, in every conceivable sense.

He still decided to push his luck and invite him down to the VA. This time Steve didn’t take offense. He just gave a non-committal answer before Natasha stepped on the gas.

*

Getting visited by your boyfriend at work was even better than he’d been led to believe. And at least now, having watched other men and women just like him share their stories, Steve was more receptive to the idea of therapy.

It still didn’t make it any less corny when Sam asked what made him happy and got, “I don’t know, but being with you is a good start.”

Sam punched his arm hard, Steve laughed and pretended it made a damn lick of difference, and then they went for Italian food. It was a good day. For both of them, Sam thought, smiling at Steve’s animated face as he told Sam all about the last Avengers meet-up.

*

He missed that smile when Steve and Natasha showed up, dirty and grim-faced, on his doorstep. The cat thing slinked in, winding around Sam’s legs as they claimed they couldn’t trust anyone else. Sam always knew this day would come. Steve clutched his hand long after the door shut.

Sam eventually managed to coax him out of his shoes and onto the couch. Steve’s head fell back with a tired sigh. He hummed as Sam’s fingers combed through the mess on his head, eyes sliding shut. Sam kissed his temple and flicked his nose, then got up to fetch him some water.

Well, he knew going in that it wasn’t going to be a normal relationship. Even just the superhero jig made that glaringly obvious. But Sam liked what he’d found with Steve Rogers. He would just have to tag along to keep his ass out of the fire.

“White boys,” Sam grumbled to himself, straightening up and closing the fridge.

Still, he couldn’t help smiling like a dope at the old [post-it](http://weheartit.com/entry/119465266?utm_campaign=share&utm_medium=image_share&utm_source=tumblr) stuck to the fridge door, cheerfully ripped off from Gravity Falls (hey, Sam was allowed to watch cartoons if he wanted).

 

**STEVE DO YOU LIKE ME?**

 

þ  **YES**

þ  **DEFINITELY**

þ  **ABSOLUTELY!**

 

And Steve’s loving personal addition:

 

þ  **I WANT TO HOLD YOUR HAND & CLIMB YOU LIKE A TREE :)**

 

Definitely a keeper.

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by the light of my life, my sun and stars, [Kalaert](http://kalaert.tumblr.com/)


End file.
